Programme Notes

Arnold Schoenberg - Sechs kleine Klavierstücke, Op. 19 (Six Little Piano Pieces)
In a new Orchestration by Peter Joyce 

1. Leicht, zart (Light, delicate)

2. Langsam (Slow)

3. Sehr langsame (Very slow )

4. Rasch, aber leicht (Brisk, but light)

5. Etwas rasch (Somewhat brisk)

6. Sehr langsam (Very slow)

In a burst of unrestrained creativity that often characterised Schoneberg’s freely atonal phase, the first five of these short pieces were written in a single day, February 19th, 1911, and were originally intended to comprise the whole work. However, following the death of his mentor and idol Gustav Mahler, Schoenberg composed the sixth piece on June 17th in what is generally considered to be an homage to Mahler, who in many ways had opened the path for the musical innovations of the Second Viennese School. They were first performed on February 4th 1912 in Berlin by Louis Closson and were published in 1913 by Universal Edition in Vienna.

In composing these short pieces Schoenberg was reacting against the excesses of late Romanticism and stated his goal as such: “complete liberation from form and symbols, cohesion and logic. Away with motivic work! Away with harmony as the cement of my architecture! Harmony is expression and nothing more. Away with pathos! Away with 24 pound protracted scores!” The Six Short Pieces were composed at the same time that Schoenberg was working on his orchestration of his massive Gurre-Lieder which he had composed between 1900 and 1903, and as they were in the opulent romantic style of his earlier style they turned out to be Schoenberg’s most popular success to date, much to the chagrin of the composer who felt his more serious, personal and atonal works were not given the appreciation they deserved. 

The pieces themselves are all miniatures and contain no motivic or musical relation to each other. Proceeding almost in a stream of consciousness, they vary in mood and as Schoenberg developed, and Webern would later perfect, they contain a whole world of expression condensed and distilled into the least time and space possible.

Some years before in 1909 Schoenberg had composed The Five Pieces for Orchestra (Fünf Orchesterstücke), Op. 16, a dense, expressionistic work for massive orchestra. This work had its world premiere in the Queen's Hall, London at a Promenade Concert on the 3rd of September 1912. While the piece was poorly received at its premiere its importance was clear to the conductor Sir Henry Wood, a constant champion of new music who invited the composer in 1914 to come and conduct the work himself at the Queen's Hall. This time the work was better received and Schoenberg was delighted with the performance and congratulated Wood and the orchestra warmly: "I must say it was the first time since Gustav Mahler that I heard such music played again as a musician of culture demands." It is believed that this concert was attended by Gustav Holst, who obtained a copy of the score, the only Schoenberg score he ever owned. This monumental composition clearly impacted Holst and may have been an inspiration for the composition The Planets, not only in its structure and orchestration but also as the Planets were originally titled Seven Pieces for Large Orchestra.

The Six Little Piano Pieces by Schoneberg will be performed today in a new orchestration by Peter Joyce and are being featured in the programme not only to highlight Schoenberg’s influence on Holst and his complete contrast to Elgar but also to honour the 150th anniversary of the Composer's birth. But most importantly perhaps is that in putting these three compositions together, we are able to experience three totally different reactions to the rapidly changing world of the early 20th century and to the horrors of the first world war. Namely, Schoenberg looking forward into the future, Elgar looking back into the past, and Holst looking outwards into the unknown. 

Edward Elgar - Concerto for Cello and Orchestra in E Minor, Op. 85

Composer: born June 2, 1857, Broadheath, near Worcester, England; died February 23, 1934, Worcester
Composed: Summer of 1919. Dedicated to Sir Sidney and Lady Frances Colvin
Premiered: October 27th 1919 with Felix Salmond with Elgar conducting the LSO.

1. Adagio – Moderato - E minor, Adagio 4/4, Moderato 9/8, 12/8

2. Lento – Allegro molto E minor - Lento, 4/4, G major Allegro Molto 4/4

3. Adagio – Bb major, Adagio 3/8

4. Allegro Bb minor 2/4– Moderato 4/4 E Minor– Allegro, ma non-troppo 2/4 Eminor– Poco più lento 4/4 – Adagio, Allegro Molto

There are few works in the history of music whose conception and reception are so bathed in tragedy as Edward Elgar’s Cello Concerto. The immediate context of the Cello Concertos composition took place while Elgar was recovering from tonsil surgery in the relative isolation of a recently rented Sussex cottage in the summer of 1919. However the most profound impact on the mood and material of the concerto was the only recent end of the First World War, a brutal and meaningless slaughter on a scale never seen before. The horrors of this conflict signalled the end of the world that Elgar loved and in which his music and way of life could be understood. These feelings were perhaps also brought to a boiling point when he heard of the death of a young New Zealand soldier Kenneth Munro the son of Elgar’s first great love, Helen Weaver, who had broken off her engagement to Elgar some 40 years earlier. 

Although Elgar’s Cello is one of the most popular and beloved works in the repertoire, its initial reception was not all so positive. This had less to do with the composition however and more to do with the disastrous circumstances of its premiere. This took place on October 27th 1919 with Felix Salmond performing and Elgar himself conducting the London Symphony Orchestra. The terrible performance on this occasion was not the fault of Elgar’s conducting or the LSO’s playing, but rather that the main conductor for the programme Albert Coates, in an attempt to impress in his first concert as the new chief conductor of the LSO chose a particularly difficult programme and ran over his own rehearsal time to such an extent that it left little to no time for Elgar to rehearse. As if this isn’t enough tragedy, the work finally received its rightful acclaim following the landmark recording by Jaqueline Du Pre, who’s rapid rise to fame and tragic decline in her health were both intrinsically linked to Elgar’s Cello Concerto.

Although Elgar was one of many important composers who never managed to finish a full scale opera, the dramatic sense he developed in his oratorios, the works compelling use of recitative and a real sense of dialogue between soloist and orchestra all contribute to perhaps the most operatic work he ever composed. If turned into a libretto, the circumstances surrounding the cello concerto’s composition and reception would result in an opera too maudlin and sentimental to be taken seriously. In the light of this, the often light and fresh music of the concerto, its transparent scoring, its relatively short duration and Elgar’s ability to focus his creative and emotional energy into one of his most compact yet symphonic compositions is an almost miraculous achievement of Elgar’s compositional and personal will, all while demonstrating the stiff upper lip mentality we have come to associate with Elgar and his Edwardian contemporaries. 

The operatic qualities of the work are most clearly demonstrated by the recitative-like music  that opens each movement apart from the 3rd which might be seen as a reflective aria in contrast to the tragic utterances that surround it. The first movement begins with the solo cello’s characteristic statement of noble defiance and is echoed by the woodwinds. Following this the soloist’s first short cadenza leads to the main theme of the movement. This wistful minor theme in 9/8, at times dreamy and rhapsodic, is alternated with a more gentle relaxed theme in the major. The movement has the form of a ternary song and in contrast to it’s often symphonic character undergoes little to no development. 

The second movement again opens with a recitative, which not only echoes the opening of the previous movement but also introduces the scuttling semi quaver patterns (or “Diddle Diddle” noises as Alice Elgar referred to them) which build to the second movement’s principle perpetuum mobile theme in G major. Apart from two raucous orchestral interludes the movement is nimble and fleet throughout ending as if it dissolves into a puff of smoke. 

The third movement is as fleeting as it is beautiful. This intimate and reflective aria unfolds over just 60 bars, ending as unexpected and unresolved as it began. The chosen key of Bb major is as distant as possible from our home key of E minor and this short moment of contrast and repose only serves to heighten the impact of the passionate and emotional movement that is to follow.

Following a short and nervous transition back to our home key of E minor, the cello once again launches into an impassioned recitative as if attempting the grapple once again with the unresolved tragedies that inhabit the work. The principle part of the movement is a brief glimpse into the brash and rumbustious pomp of the Elgar we used to know replete with brassy orchestral tuttis. This raucous mood is short lived however as we arrive at a heartfelt and intimate epilogue which returns to the unresolved themes of the third movement. After a brief moment of tranquillity the solo cello repeats the ardent question of the opening recitative as if screaming out for some for some resolution. This is not to be, however, and with his unique irreverence Elgar pushes all worry to one side and ends the piece in apparent but deceptive high spirits.

Gustav Holst - The Planets, Op. 32, (1914-1917)

No one, least of all Gustav Holst was quite prepared for the unrivalled success of the Planets. Before the composition of the Planets Holst holst had had limited success as a composer, making his living initially as a trombone player and organist and later as a well respected teacher of music at the St Paul's Girls' School in Hammersmith, where he was to remain until the end of his life. The Planets had their origins in March and April 1913, when Gustav Holst and his friend and benefactor Balfour Gardiner, holidayed in Spain with the composer Arnold Bax and his brother, the author Clifford Bax. While there, discussions about astrology began to interest Holst and he later became "a remarkably skilled interpreter of horoscopes". Holst later wrote to a friend that he only studied things that suggested music to him. Similar to his earlier interest in Sanskrit, he commented that “the character of each planet suggested lots” to him.

The premiere of The Planets was at the Queen's Hall, London, on 29 September 1918, conducted by Holst's friend Adrian Boult before an invited audience of about 250 people. The event was organised by his friend Balfour Gardiner as a parting gift before Holst’s last minute calling up work as music organiser for demobilised troops in Salonica and Constantinople. The first complete public performance was given at the Queen's Hall on 15 November 1920 by the London Symphony Orchestra conducted by Albert Coates.

For the 1920 premiere, Holst provided this note: “These pieces were suggested by the astrological significance of the planets; there is no programme music, neither have they any connection with the deities of classical mythology bearing the same names. If any guide to the music is required the subtitle to each piece will be found sufficient, especially if it be used in the broad sense.”

There are few precedents for a seven-movement orchestral work on this scale. The character studies of Mussorgsky's Pictures at an Exhibition or Elgar's Enigma Variations are individually on a much smaller scale; perhaps closer in concept as abstract pictures in sound are Debussy's La Mer or Nocturnes. Holst was also influenced in form, though only marginally in content, by Schoenberg's Fünf Orchesterstücke, which he heard in 1914 – the original title of The Planets was Seven Pieces for Large Orchestra. The innovative nature of Holst's music, especially the use of polyrhythms, pedal points, use of bitonality, i.e two keys played at the same time, and the monumental orchestration initially caused some hostility among some critics, but the suite quickly became popular and has remained influential and widely performed.

Mars The Bringer of War’ was completed in August 1914 and here opposing chords are combined with crushing brutality. Mars seems to be a prophet of the never before seen mechanised warfare that was to be unleashed on Europe only one month after its composition. Its aggressive, wild nature marches with an insistent 5/4 ostinato. Horns and brass fanfares add to the military aspects of the planet’s characterization, and the movement is filled with crushing climaxes as if violently depicting battles, rage and the brutal futility of war.

Venus, the Bringer of Peace, is signalled by a solo horn whose gentle theme is answered by soft flutes. Then the atmosphere becomes more sensuous, when first the solo violin and then all violins, sing a yearning melody. Everything is at peace, moved only by delicate orchestral colours, oscillating chords from flutes and harps, and the sweet sound of the celesta. Venus is Holst at his most relaxed and lyrical, a mood he never quite recaptured again.

In Mercury, “the Winged Messenger”, the last planet to be composed, Holst uses bitonality to create a scintillating impression of speed and light. Holst’s messenger scurries about amid fast orchestral figurations and light, darting gestures from muted violins. Holst considered this movement to reflect the “process of human thought.”

Jupiter, the Bringer of Jollity, arrives with blaring horns. The music is joyful and dance-like, perhaps reflecting Holst’s interest in English folk music and dances. In the central section, the strings play a stately tune (later used for the patriotic hymn “I vow to thee my country” an association which Holst despised) before coming to an end in an exuberant coda. The use of intervals of a fourth here would go on to influence generations of film composers, but may also harken back to the influence of Schoenberg who used such intervals extensively in his Chamber Symphony of 1906.

Saturn, the Bringer of Old Age, Holst’s favourite movement, begins with a restless succession of syncopated chords, continuing on to a march-like section and finally a dirge-like melody, all of which might depict the different stages of life. Ultimately, however, the music finds rest in a resigned serenity and peaceful maturity. Holst commented, “Saturn not only brings physical decay but also a vision of fulfilment.” Saturn is perhaps the most characteristic of Holst, with its sad procession and waves of sound receding into the far distance. 

Uranus the Magician  is heralded with a four note motive, a musical representation of Holst’s name, intoned by the brass. The music opens with eerie staccato figures in the woodwinds, coloured by unstable bitonal chords, slowly building up the suspense and tension until we arrive at a manic dance. The close is quiet and sinister as if to suggest that it was all a magic trick. Uranus is typical of another side of Holst’s personality, whose earthly humour spills over into flamboyant orchestral excess.

Neptune, the Mystic, offers a chilling representation of the vast emptiness of space. The music, once again in 5/4 is quiet and mysterious throughout, softly evoked by gentle ostinato melodies, lightly brushed cymbals and more eerie bitonal chords played by alternating brass and woodwind chords and rippling figurations in the Harps and Celesta. At the midpoint, a wordless female chorus sings from offstage, as if beckoning us into the infinite unknown. It is easy to overlook the fact that, at the time of composition, Neptune was the farthest object known in the solar system. Appropriately it is hard to imagine anything more remote and mysterious then the sound of Neptune, perhaps the most atmospheric music Holst ever composed.